


Lack of Communication

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Series: Sleepy Hollow OTP Prompts [10]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Angry Ichabod, Creepy, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Kidnapping, Mentions of Torture (Nondescript), Pre-Relationship, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where's Lieutenant Mills?"</p><p>  <i>"She's right here. She's unconscious at the moment..."</i></p><p>  <b>Prompt: Imagine Person B is kidnapped. How does Person A respond?</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Lack of Communication

**Author's Note:**

> Nope, this is just a oneshot because I'm bad at writing torture and kidnapping and stuff, so I'm sorry, but **it's a oneshot!** Prompt from OTP Prompts Tumblr.
> 
> I do not own _Sleepy Hollow_. Thanks for reading!

She was never late.

Correction, Ichabod's mind supplied, the Lieutenant was sometimes late. She never arrived before or on the exact time that they were supposed to meet, were they meant to meet somewhere besides the archive room or the cabin or the precinct.

But she was never so late - ten minutes had gone passed from the time that she was supposed to meet him here. He sent a text after a few minutes of wrangling autocorrect, but a reply was not returned. Ichabod frowned at his phone. Had the message not gone through. This was most unlike Miss Mills. He decided to call her, but he would wait a few more minutes before he did.

Perhaps she had vehicular trouble. Perhaps she had gotten caught in traffic. Maybe she had merely gotten in a long queue at the grocery store, or whatever establishment she had been in prior to their anticipated meeting.

Ichabod squinted towards the sky. It was horrendously drab day out. The weather reminded him of the stormy skies of England. He would very much like to visit Oxford in this century. He was sure that he would be appalled by the changes, but breathing in familiar air would be a welcome distraction, once the war against Moloch settled down. He would have to ask Miss Mills if she would accompany him.

On such a note, he decided that he would call her now. He navigated to his contacts list and picked out the Lieutenant's name, pressing the button to call her. He pressed the phone to his ear just as the first raindrops started to fall. He was glad that they were meant to be indoors today.

The call picked up on the fifth ring, right before it should have gone to the mail of voices.

"Miss Mills," he greeted. "I was concerned when you didn't show up at our aforementioned rendezvous. Has something happened?"

There was no response. Ichabod frowned, looked at the display, and put it back to his ear. He was sure that the call had been picked up.

"Lieutenant?"

 _"Your Lieutenant is otherwise tied up at the moment."_ The voice was not the Lieutenant's, but rather a male's, gruff sounding and oozing superiority. It put ice into Ichabod's veins.

"Where's Lieutenant Mills?" he asked stiffly. His shoulders had stiffened, his back straightened. His body fell upon the soldier in his veins on the first sign of trouble, and this was the first sign.

_"She's right here. She's unconscious at the moment, but if she were awake, I'd have her scream for you, boytoy."_

The ice turned to fire, burning through Ichabod's body. His voice was clipped when he spoke again. "Leave her alone."

_"Never. I enjoy looking at her."_

Ichabod could have sworn he saw red. His hand clenched into a fist without conscious decision. "Leave her _alone_ ," he repeated. "Who are you? What do you want?"

_"I want something that your blonde friend on the sea recently acquired. It's a book, written in Greek, covered in runes. Perhaps you know of what I speak?"_

So this was about Mr Hawley. That did not help to assuage Ichabod's growing anger. "I do not. Miss Mills and I have nothing to do with Mr. Hawley unless he accompany us for police business."

 _"Tsk. I suggest you find_ Mr. Hawley _,"_ the voice sneered, _"then, and retrieve what I ask for. Mills has such a pretty face. I'd hate to have to cut it up. Call me when you have what I what."_

The call clicked off. Ichabod unfroze slowly, becoming aware that his entire body was physically shaking. Rarely did his emotions, nevermind anger, always so deadly, get the better of him. He pressed his fingers into his palms roughly and then relaxed his hands, forcing himself to breathe.

He then shoved his phone back in his pocket and bolted. He could catch one of the cars from the public transit system - a taxi, he believed - but he found that he was horrible at hailing the attention of the drivers, and he did not wish to stand around in waiting. For now, adrenalin was burning through his veins, fuelled on by anger and fear. He would find Mr. Hawley, they would have a stern talk where Ichabod would most certainly not lose control and yell at the unruly blonde, he would retrieve the book in question, and then he would retrieve Abbie. And if Abbie had a scratch, so much as a tear in her clothing, then...

Well. Ichabod would cross that bridge when he got there. So help him.

 


End file.
